


In Hindsight

by HappyEight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyEight/pseuds/HappyEight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of all of the ways he thought he might die(because he has thought about it. In depth), this is not one of them</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hindsight

Derek is looming over him. It makes Stiles’ head spin as he tries to focus on him.

“Sit up.”

Stiles hurts.  He is tired and his whole body aches and he does not want to move. He is sicker than he can ever remember being and a large part of him thinks that this really might be it for him. It makes him realize that, in hindsight, he might have been under exaggerating when his dad called to check on him that morning. There was no way Stiles could convince his dad that he was fine when he could barely talk--likely due to the fact that he had been coughing all night as his dad had informed him. He could convince him that he wasn’t as bad as he sounded though. There was nothing his dad would have been able to do for Stiles anyways, and he would have spent the afternoon hovering with frustration not being able to do anything for his son. It helped that when his dad had called Stiles hadn’t actually been as bad off as he was a few hours later. When morning had turned into afternoon and Stiles was sure that his death was imminent he regretted telling his dad to stay at work. It would have been nice to see his dad in his last snot filled moments.

It’s not going to be werewolves or magic or lizards or any of the horrible terrifying dangerous things in his life that are going to kill him. In the end, it’s the freaking flu. Though as bad as he feels right now it’s probably some kind of horrible magical flu that is going to make him suffer a long slow painful snot induced death. That would pretty much be his luck.

Given that this is likely his last day on earth, he decides there’s little harm in ignoring Derek’s request to sit up choosing to remain limp on the couch. Derek has zero interest in going along with that plan though and Stiles finds himself forcefully pushed upwards as Derek makes room for himself on the couch where Stiles’ head had just been. Irritation flashes through him allowing the strength to pull himself back from the brink of death to demand that Derek leave him in peace to die the terribly tragic death that fate has in store for him.

“Hey!” Is all he manages to get out and considering how sore his throat is he’s going to consider that a monumental accomplishment. Unfortunately the tone that he is aiming for is stern and irritated but it comes out sounding more like a raspy whine which is totally not what he was going for at all. It also doesn’t help that he’s literally being held up right now one handed by Derek who just sits himself down on the couch with what appears to be zero effort. Actually, there’s no appearing about it. He knows that it the gesture did take about zero effort.

Through the entire motion Stiles is barely even jostled, which is just disgusting. Stiles doesn’t even have the strength to grab the remote from where it bounced to the floor a couple episodes of Desperate Housewives ago and the nonchalant control of werewolf super-strength is the kind of shit he’s getting real tired of. He’s sick, goddamnit; he shouldn’t have his weak human state rubbed in his face while he’s unable to form even the minimum of scathing comments.

Before Stiles can articulate anymore protest Derek has rearranged the pillow Stiles had resigned himself to die on so that it’s settled on his lap. Derek shifts and manhandles Stiles until he’s laying with his head in the alphas lap. Said alpha doesn’t say anything during the process. Because why use words when physical force can get the job done just as easily. Especially when Stiles is too weak to protest and back talk for once. Derek Hale does not ask politely when glares and manhandling can get the job done. Not when it comes to getting Stiles to do something at least.

Seeing as how he is on his deathbed, Stiles refuses to acknowledge that it may be more than a little his fault that Derek flies off the handle around him so often. The werewolf just has buttons that Stiles loves to push.

“My mom used to sit with us like this when we were sick” Derek offers in explanation as to why he has just made himself part of Stiles deathbed. Deathcouch. Whatever. The motion is surprisingly caring and affectionate regardless.

Stiles isn’t sure if he should be surprised by this kind of behavior or not. He feels too terrible to contemplate what it means that Derek’s penchant for physical affection for the werewolves in the pack has now extended to include humans too. On the other hand he’s not going to complain about the sudden close quarters that he’s in with the alpha. Stiles has always been a tactile person and not one to shy away from comfort in the form of physical contact like hugs and cuddles. Especially when he feels as terrible as he does right now.

At first it really had been extremely weird to see Derek and the other members of the wolf pack draped across each other like it was no big deal and people just randomly piled together in a tangle of arms and limbs in the middle of the afternoon. It had almost been weirder when they had pulled him into their wolfy pile to like it was no big deal. Clearly they didn’t see the distinction between wolf and human that he sees. Maybe Derek sees it though because Stiles can’t think of a single occasion where he had been sprawled on the couch or floor with two or more werewolves draped across him that had included Derek in the sprawl. He doesn’t want to think about why the idea bothers him so much.

Derek commandeers the remote and Stiles half-heartedly wants to protest on principle because _he_ is sick and this is _his_ house and _he_ should be able to watch whatever _he_ wants to watch. Except _he_ really hadn’t been invested in reruns of Desperate Housewives in the first place(not that he doesn’t enjoy the show but now they are showing reruns of the reruns they ran a couple hours ago and that’s more than a little boring). The channel has been changed to reruns of some cartoon version of Spider Man that Stiles is just a touch too delirious to be able to place correctly. He thinks it’s the one that get’s thrown around online as a meme. He’s not sure though. He wants to ask Derek but his throat feels like sandpaper and there’s little chance that Derek would have a clue as to what he was talking about anyways.

Now that they are situated comfortably on the couch, Derek seems to think that it’s entirely okay to gently rub his fingers over Stiles head.

It feels really, really nice.

Derek’s hand is warm and gentle but firm enough that his nails are just grazing Stiles' scalp. Up to this moment he was previously unaware that being petted felt this good and considers what he’d have to do for Derek never to stop doing what he’s doing in this moment. Derek seems to have some kind of magical werewolf fingers from how absurdly good the petting feels.

The motion helps to distract him from how truly terrible he feels, and isn’t too long before Stiles feels himself starting to doze off. Of course he’s still sick, there’s no doubt about that but sitting here with his head on Derek’s lap, watching cartoons, and being petted is just nicer than being curled up in a miserable ball on the couch with crap television because he can’t reach the remote.

“Thanks.” Stiles croaks hating how much it hurts to talk. That is probably the worst part of this illness. Derek pauses in his petting for just a brief second before resuming.

“Go to sleep Stiles.”

For once, Stiles decides that he’s not going to argue.


End file.
